


Imagine

by Princess of Power (Pulpbomb)



Category: John Lennon (Musician), Original Work, The Beatles
Genre: Central Park, Gen, Not scary!, Old fic I found, Supernatural Elements, original fic - Freeform, strawberry fields - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-24 15:40:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3774178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pulpbomb/pseuds/Princess%20of%20Power
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a young woman goes to Central Park's Strawberry Fields for the first time, she encounters the spirit of John Lennon. This is the story of that meeting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imagine

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 1995. Set in 1995. I guess this could be considered Real Person Fic but a dead Real Person. Is Dead RPF a thing? I don't know. Let me know if you think I should change any labels or tags. Thanks!

As my friend and I walked through Central Park towards Strawberry Fields, John Lennon suddenly appeared at my side. My friend was talking but his voice faded into the background when John began to speak.  
  
“Hullo,” he said, with a little wave of his hand.  
  
I turned and stared at him, flabbergasted.  
  
There was John Lennon, circa 1964, before his self-proclaimed “fat period,” standing before me, plain as day. I tried to think of something intelligible to say, but the words that blurted out of my mouth were, “you’re dead!”  
  
John laughed. “Of course, I’m dead. It’s the nineties, isn’t it?”  
  
“But… but, why are you here?” I stammered.  
  
“I came to talk to you. I noticed you from up there,” he stated, gesturing towards the sky.  
  
“Up there, you mean, as in Heaven? Does this mean you believe in Heaven? What about the whole ’Imagine there is no heaven’ bit?” I said, sarcastically. ‘Did someone slip a hallucinogen in my water?’ I wondered.  
  
“Well, after you die, where you go depends on what you believe.“ John ignored my sarcasm, giving me a wry grin.  
  
“I see,” I said. “Well. Actually, no I don’t. But that’s okay, I like surprises.”  
  
“I counted on that, I came down here as a surprise,” John laughed.  
  
“Well, uh, thanks, but you scared the hell out of me! Are you alone, or is Jim Morrison gonna jump out at me from behind a rock?” I asked.  
  
“No, no, it’s just me. I thought I’d pop down for a bit, see the sights, have a cigarette. The usual.” John said.  
  
“I see,” I said, even though I really didn’t. “Do you do this often? Or it this more of a one shot deal? Will I see you again after this or do you dissolve and men in white coats come and take me away?” My voice was thick with sarcasm.  
  
“I’m not sure. It depends on how this trip goes. But don’t worry, you’re not crazy. Can’t say discussing this with anyone would be considered healthy, but it is real, “ he paused, “I’ve never done this before, y’know. This is a first for me too.”  
  
“Well, that’s comforting! Okay, then… why me? Do I have a sign on top of my head that I don’t know about, inviting dead people to come chat with me? I mean, did you just look down see me walking and say, ‘hey. I’ll go scare the hell out of that bird’? Did you plan this? Understand, I love that I’m actually talking to you, but, I guess I’m more than a little freaked out.” I clamped my lips shut, embarrassed by my rambling.  
  
“And so you should be. We dead people don’t do this often. If this happened to me when I was alive, I’d think I was one a bad trip. Not that you are,” he corrected himself hastily, “but that would’ve been my reaction.”  
  
“Whew, I’d hate to think that someone in New York would ever do something as mean as that!! I said, smiling.  
  
John laughed. “You remind me of me.”  
  
“What? Like, I’m dead, too?” I asked, fearing the answer.  
  
“No, you cover your true self with quips and comebacks,” he clarified.  
  
“Well, thank you. I appreciate the comparison.” At that point, it dawned on me that my friend, Connor, was still talking to me and that my silence may worry him and that we were still walking towards Strawberry Fields. I thought I better try to rectify the situation. “Er, John, does Connor over here,” I gestured to my friend beside me, “have any idea what’s going on?”  
  
“Nope,” John replied, “hasn’t a clue; he’s still talking to you.”  
  
“Ah, what should we do? I mean, I’ll have to talk to him eventually, don’t you think? Besides, he’s a really big fan, he knows a lot about you and The Beatles, more than me, I’d say. Not that I don’t love you and your music, he just has more info rattling around his brain than me, if you can believe it,” I said hurriedly.  
  
John leaned over. “Relax, I’m here to see you. You intrigued me and so I came down,” he whispered in my ear.  
  
I shivered and Connor spoke up, “Jackie, are you cold? We’re almost at Strawberry Fields, I think.”  
  
I snapped out of my reverie and turned to Connor, “Connor, um, do you think I could have a minute or so to myself. I’ll meet you there. You go on ahead.”  
  
“I don’t know, are you sure? Are you okay?” Connor asked, sounding concerned.  
  
“I’m fine, really. Go on. I’ll be there soon.” I squeezed his arm and watched him walk away.  
  
I sat down on a bench and put my head in my hands. “Jackie, get a grip! Next thing you know, a young Micky Dolenz will show up to serenade you,” I whispered to myself, “hey that’d be kind of cool.”  
  
“I can arrange that, you know. Sleight of hand, really.” Startled, I looked up to see John sitting beside me.  
  
“You know, if I were you, I’d go by the name Jack. Think about it, how many girls do you know named Jack?” John laughed over his own comment.  
  
“Oh, Christ, you’re real,” I muttered. “First of all, don’t sneak up on me like that. Second, do not call me ‘Jack’ and third, I’d be awful worried if you were me… I just can’t believe you’re real.” I finished, with a sigh.  
  
“Jack, I’m as real as a man who’s been dead for fifteen-odd years can be!” John chuckled at my reaction.  
  
“You’re very cavalier about your death, aren’t you? I mean, I don’t know if I could be so blasé about it,” I turned to to look into his eyes.  
  
John averted his gaze and spoke quietly, “well, I’ve had a long time to think about it and there’s nothing I can really do. I’d like to be with Sean and Julian and Yoko, but, I mean, I can’t. There’s nothing I can do.”  
  
“But, wait a minute, if you’re here with me, why can’t you be with them?” I asked.  
  
“Leaving them would be too hard. I wouldn’t want to put them through all that again. Besides, I can look in on them and they know I’m always there for them. So, in a way, I’m still here, you know?” John looked directly at me.  
  
“That’s very admirable, I don’t know if I’d be so strong,” I replied.  
  
“It’s not a choice. I have to do this. I have no choice. I had no choice!” John nearly shouted.  
  
“Relax! Look, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought up this subject. I’m sorry!” I pleaded.  
  
John reached over and took my hand. Amazed, I looked down and stared at our intertwined fingers. “Neat trick,” I sighed, “do other people see you or am I holding hand with the air?”  
  
“No, no, other people see me. I just don’t look like me to them. They only see a couple holding hands. People today only see what they want to see.” John stated.  
  
“Wow. That’s profound. No wonder why you were the voice of a generation.” I said.  
  
“Rubbish! I hate that phrase!” John said fervently.  
  
“Whoa! Calm down. I didn’t coin it. I just repeated it!” I sounded defensive, even to myself.  
  
John grumbled under his breath before responding, “I know, it’s kind of refreshing to talk to someone your age who wasn’t around during all the madness.”  
  
“Yeah, you probably didn’t get much of a chance when you were alive. People my age were three when you died.” I shook my head and laughed softly at the absurdity the situation.  
  
“Don’t I know it! It’s kind of odd if you think about it… so I try not to.” John said with a wry grin.  
  
“Er… Let’s change the subject? I mean… This is so surreal, but since I have you here… I’d like to ask you about drugs. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want but if you do, just be honest, okay?” I asked.  
  
“Alright, I’m known for my honesty, you know,” John smiled.  
  
“That’s not all you’re known for,” I retorted, “anyway, I don’t really know what I want to ask you. I mean, why did you get into drugs? Wait, that’s really vague… Am I making any sense? Oh God.” I finished, a blush stained my cheeks.  
  
“Straight to it, huh? Well, I think I understand what you’re getting at,” John replied. “Let’s see, I started smoking marijuana when Bob Dylan introduced us to it. I liked it a lot. I loved the way it made me feel. We all did, especially Paul.”  
  
“He’s still into it, if rumors are to be believed.” I interjected.  
  
“Yeah, I’m not surprised. It was his favorite pastime,” John declared, a fond look on his face as he thought about his former bandmate and songwriting partner.  
  
“So, um, I read that you took pills before pot and then LSD later, is that right?” I asked.  
  
“Right, in Hamburg, we took speed just to stay awake on stage!” John answered.  
  
“Yeah, that toilet seat around your neck would’ve been extra heavy if you were half asleep, I suppose.” I grinned.  
  
“Cheeky monkey!” John grinned. “So you heard about that, eh? Huh. But you’re right, those pills kept us going. God, Hamburg was hell.” He shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts. “Next question.”  
  
“Okay,” I replied, “what about your experiences with LSD? What got you into that? And why?”  
  
John thought for a moment before he replied, “I scarcely remember the first time I did it. But it was so wild! It’s like walking around in the dark your whole life and then someone suddenly turns on the light. You’re blinded by the beauty.” A faraway look flickered across his face and I found myself lost with him in a world filled with fantastic images and psychedelic colors. I looked to the sky, and it was as if a hurricane of colors converged above the city.  
  
“It must have been unreal,” I said, gazing at the color show in the sky.  
  
“Yes, for a while it was,” John replied, “I dropped acid like it was candy and wrote songs unlike any I’d written before. But sooner or later, everything changes, and what was once beautiful becomes distorted, ugly and black.”  
I looked up and say the grey pallor the sky had taken, then, suddenly, as John spoke, the darkness disappeared and the crystal blue sky returned.  
  
“That’s when I stopped dropping LSD and began to meditate… Oh, and then I was on heroin with Yoko, but I don’t want to talk about that.”  
  
“Wow, I wish I could say something meaningful, even something intelligent as a response, but ‘wow’ is all that comes to mind.” I said, awestruck.  
  
“I know, it’s something that can only be experienced, but I don’t suggest it now. The drugs are different. Back in the sixties, they were pure but now they are all laced with one thing or another.” John warned, a serious look on his face. It felt like I was getting a lecture from a cool uncle.  
  
“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m not into that stuff. honest!” I splayed my hands out in front of me, in what I hoped was a gesture of sincerity. “But, damn, this is starting to sound like an interview and that’s not what I want. I just… I love talking to you and experiencing vicariously even a small part of your life. This whole thing is just so incredible. I don’t know what to think, much less say.” I said. I felt silly I was talking to a dead man. I mean, not in my mind, either, but in the middle of Central Park! Weird!  
  
I voiced my inner musings. “John, this situation is insane! I still can’t believe I’m sitting here talking to you! I mean, really, is this happening? Am I hallucinating? Help me understand,” I pleaded.  
  
“I’ll do my best but it’s not like I have a manual. All I know is I am really here. This is really happening. I don’t truly understand how and I definitely don’t know why … yet, here I am.” John made an expansive gesture encompassing his entire body.  
  
I shook my head. “What can I say? This whole thing is ludicrous. Every logical bone in my body is telling me this can’t be happening. But, in my heart, I know it is.”  
  
“Do you mind if I ask you a question?”  
  
“Is that it? Then no,” I grinned.  
  
“Har-har, you slay me,” John joked. The smile fell off my face.  
  
“That’s not funny,” I said, quietly.  
  
“I’m sorry, I know,” John said and quickly sobered, “but what I want to know: why are you going to Strawberry Fields? What’s your motive?”  
  
“I don’t know. Honest. I mean, it’s probably a real tourist-y thing to do, but, I just feel drawn there. It’s as though it’s something I have to do, you know.” I said, softly.  
  
“I’ve looked down on it quite a bit, and it amazes me how many people still go. I love to listen to to what people say when they’re there. One guy, he said I was ‘the talented Monkee’! Isn’t that a giggle?” John chuckled.  
  
“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey! I like The Monkees! No, correction: I love The Monkees! Don’t know them or you can go right back up, okay?” I burst out.  
  
“I wasn’t knocking them! I just found it amusing. That’s all. I like The Monkees! They were hysterical! Calm down.” John bumped into shoulder into mine.  
  
“I’m sorry, I’m not usually that quick to jump down someone’s throat, I’m just a little on edge right now,” I apologized.  
  
“You didn’t really answer my question. Look deep into your soul for the answer, I want to know,” John said.  
  
“I guess, I feel like if I go, I’ll be closer to you. I mean, this is all new for me. I wasn’t around in the sixties. I didn’t have a lasting relationship with The Beatles growing up. I wasn’t aware when you dies. I feel like I need to go, I need to say goodbye, or I’m sorry. I don’t know. You see, when I was growing up, I watched The Monkees and I knew a group called The Beatles inspired their show. I’ve loved the Monkees, forever it seems, but I’ve only loved your music for a relatively short time. So, all the emotions surrounding your years with the group, your marriage, and your death, especially, are all new to me. I need to grieve.” I took a steady breath, and looked at John.  
  
“I understand,” John said.  
  
“Do you? Can you? Did you know there was a documentary about The Beatles that came out a year or two after you died? It was called ‘The Compleat Beatles’. Well, at the end, they show a picture of each of you and say where you are now. Your picture was last, and they said that you were assassinated, which I knew. But, when I saw it written on the screen, I burst into tears. I cried so hard because it’s just so unfair. Why you? Why did it have to happen? I just don’t understand.” My shoulders shook with silent sobs. John reached over and put his arm around me and pulled me to him.  
  
“I know. I know you cried, I think that’s part of the reason I was drawn down here to you. I don’t understand it either and, believe me, I know it isn’t fair. There are no words that can be said… by me… you… anyone that can ease the pain we all feel. Trust me, I know.”  
  
“John, I wish I could stay here talking forever, but I guess there will be time for that someday. Right now, I’d like to go with Connor and visit Strawberry Fields for a while. To more, to grieve, and now, to remember. Will you join me?” I asked.  
  
“I’d like to, but, I think it’s time for me to go back. I don’t know if I can ever do this again, but I want you to remember, I’ll always be with you,” John said, standing.  
  
I also stood up and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you for this. Those words may sound hollow, but they come form the heart. Thank you, John,” I whispered.  
  
“Thank you, Jackie,” John replied.  
  
Tears filled my eyes as I turned to walk towards Strawberry Fields and Connor. I felt a hand on my shoulder and I quickly turned but there was no one there. He was gone.  
  
As I walked down the path, I raised my eyes to the sky. “Thank you,” I whispered.  
  
I looked around and found Connor in the crowd. He noticed me and waved. I waved back and as I walked along, I heard John’s voice whisper:  
  
“Your welcome, always… Jack.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Jackie is basically me. No I never had a chat with a ghost, famous or otherwise. And yes, I am a huge Monkees fan. I love the TV show & their music.
> 
> I think I wrote this when I was immersed in my own personal Beatlemania, constantly listening to their music (solo works too) and reading bios of the band and John Lennon in particular. I can't recall if I wrote it for a college class or just to work through my feelings about JL's death. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. 
> 
> Concrit welcome, kudos and feedback appreciated!


End file.
